Saturday, November 15, 2008

Today started out as a lazy day. Patrick and I waited patiently for a mechanic that didn’t show up to work on the car that won't start, but were grateful for the down time, for the quiet. Most of the previous night’s guests had left for the airport, so as the staff busied themselves with cleaning rooms and errands around the guest house, Patrick and I took in the stillness.

Patrick woke today feeling a new level of horrible. Feeling that he had been sick for too long and further prompted by the greenish hue of his loogies, I started Patrick on antibiotics. He then was sent to bed for the rest of the day, looking discouraged, tired of perpetual illness. He hasn’t felt well during most of his time in Haiti, and feels like it has sabotaged his efforts here. His spirits were low. I just hoped the medications would turn him around.

The guest house is a revolving door to all sorts of travelers: mission and humanitarian aid groups, individuals looking for an adventure, journalists, business folk, and often a couple in the final stages of adoption of a Haitian child. A French couple has been with us for the last week. They seem blissfully happy with their new little boy who is 3. When the child arrived at the guesthouse, he was quiet, shy, wore solemn sunken eyes. His arms hung skinny and fragile. His new parents doted, danced, entertained, but the child seemed tired always, barely able to engage. But meal by meal, we have watched him eat with more vigor. Slowly, smiles started to emerge. He began to echo back the rhymes and songs his new parents would sing with him. One morning he answered our “Bonjours.” Today, while resting in the shade of a mango tree, I watched the little boy run and play with another little girl living here. I am amazed at his transformation. His face no longer looks gaunt, his energy more fitting for a child his age. In 5 short days, a child was nurtured to health with love and food and a quiet place to sleep. I told his new mother that he was looking so much better. Tears glistened in her eyes, and a smile broke out across her face. Although only speaking French, she understood what I said. The communication was clear. He WAS better.

But adoption is not always that clean, that redemptive. The painful side to this story is that often children who are getting adopted have parents, have family living near. The children are placed in the orphanage because there is no money for food, no resources for school, no hope of a bright future for the young lives in the eyes of the parents. The desperate moms and dads leave their children in the orphanage because at least there they’ll be fed. And potentially, they will be adopted by a loving parent with resources and with the child’s best intentions in mind. It must be heartbreaking, the biggest sacrifice of their lives to turn to such options. It must be confusing for the children, to have been loved and to have loved their parents but in a cloud of hunger; to have strangers surround them, but their hunger lifted. It must be a strange world for those children, and I wonder how the experience will affect them.

Today, our first group from the states arrived. A group of 8 from North Hampden and Longmeadow, MA flew in for a 6 day stay. They have had a long relationship with CONASPEH and have been generous in their support of the efforts of our partners here. We have looked forward to their arrival, to a little atmosphere of home. Daniel Gourdet arrived this afternoon, preceding the group. He is a Haitian man who spent his life work as a missionary, working mostly in the Congo and lastly in Port Au Prince with his wife Saundra. He is now retired while his wife continues to work for Global Ministries. He was asked to come join the group, act as guide and translator. He is a gentle soul with a great sense of humor. Patrick and I enjoyed his presence immediately.

The airport was teeming with people: people waiting, people scurrying for bags and tips, taxi drivers hollering out their services, and some who appeared to just be spending the afternoon in no particular hurry to get anywhere. The people watching was fantastic. Grandmothers rolled out of the airport, dressed in their Sunday best and were instantly greeted by a family eagerly awaiting their arrival. Hugs, smiles, laughter erupted. Reunions are beautiful. I was interested in the observation of hat-wearing folks. Questioning a new fashion trend or creative packing, many travelers emerged from the airport with hats stacked upon their head. One man came wearing no less than 5 hats. He smiled, greeted the crowd. I was reminded of a book from my childhood about a man who sold hats and wore them stacked to the sky as he traveled on foot making sales. Many women wore 2 or 3 hats. Daniel and I smiled at the observation. While pointing out curiosities to each other, Daniel also taught me a bit of Creole during our wait. The name for speed bump literally translates as “sleeping policeman.” At first I was shocked that people would want to drive over a policeman, but Daniel enlightened me that if you didn’t slow down, the sleeping policeman would break your car. Right.

The group eventually emerged from the airport doors, quickly swarmed with bag handlers eager for their crisp green dollars. Our own reunion was lovely. Patrick and I had met them during our fall itineration, and although only meeting the group members once, they felt like old friends. After an exhausting week of illness, of frustration, of communication barriers and culture shock, their presence felt like a cool, light breeze.

Tonight the air feels lighter around me. I’ve relaxed into the support of the faces who have swooped in with excitement, with an air of adventure and openness to the experience. They come in an attitude of love and fellowship, and I too benefit from their presence. After fussing over Patrick who made a pasty appearance in greeting, they also sent him packing straight for bed and obsessed over what he might need for a speedy recovery. After a lonely week, my sense of community was renewed. I reveled in the presence and the renewed energy that electrified the air around us.

I’ve just come down from the rooftop where I shared a glass of wine with several of the women from the group. We soaked in the cool breeze, star gazed, and we talked about Haiti, about mission, about presence, about culture shock. I felt wonderful in the communication, in the sharing, in the fellowship. Finally my words were understood and the understanding was beautiful. So tonight I feel lighter, glad to be surrounded by the new, but warmly familiar faces. I worry about Patrick, hoping the antibiotics will start working and bring his rosy cheeks, his sense of humor, his feisty presence back. I hope that he too is rejuvenated by the presence of new friends. You all are more important to us and to Haiti than you’ll ever know.